Bookshelf solutions

Maybe it’s not them, maybe it’s me. I kept tapping my foot on the ground. Maybe it was just another bad day at work. I’m sure they were having a bad day too.  They didn’t mean to outright put me down like that. But here I am again staring at books that say they can help me through this situation.

Self-help books are a joke though. They’re written by so called doctors or experts that think they really understand what you’re going through. If I’m not completely sure what I’m going through how can someone else. And if they don’t know how can they give me advice. 

I took in a couple calming breaths. Maybe I had it wrong, maybe their advice was more on track than I realized. But if it’s right then it still relies on the reader to have the ability to apply it. How many of us really have that kind of discipline? I’m not sure I do. I guess that means I’m wasting another Friday standing in this bookstore.

Now I envy those who can read one of these books, and fix their situation. I started biting my nails, there were so many options. How many problems can one person really have? I didn’t have an eating problem so at least that was one section I could stay away from. But my problem was filling a lot of these other sections.

I turned, and started walking out of the aisle.  I was wasting my time again. I would just go home, and watch some television to take my mind off my week and everything would be fine. I was halfway out of the store when I realized fine was an acronym. Monday wasn’t going to be any better if I didn’t find a way to change things.

I went back to the aisle, and felt like everyone was staring at me, but I tried to push those thoughts aside. I wasn’t leaving this store without a book. Change doesn’t happen on its own. I needed to take a step towards some type of change. But which book?

I needed to break down what was really bothering me to find the underlying issue. I’m upset. I’m hurt. I’m angry. I’m depressed.

“Can I help you find anything,” a worker asked nearly causing me to jump out of my skin.

“No I’m fine,” I said a little snappier than I meant. “I’m sorry. I’m just looking right now thank you.”

He turned and walked away. Back to my self-analysis, now apparently I have social anxiety. I took some more calming breaths. At this rate I was going to be here until they closed. I looked at my phone for the time, now I had a whole new reason to be anxious.

I started slowly pacing back and forth through the aisle. I wasn’t even paying attention to the books anymore. I couldn’t help but picture their faces laughing at me right before quitting time. I understand ragging someone on Monday. I mean no one is really that happy ending their weekend, but on a Friday.

The handbook says to keep your hair clean and groomed. To keep your clothes clean and pressed, shirts tucked in. It says to keep your work space organized. I believe you should follow rules; it keeps order in the world. Every day after lunch I come back to my workspace trashed. By trashed I mean everything on my desk has been pushed on to the floor and my waste basket poured all around.

They take turns pouring potting soil in my hair as they walk by my space. I tried playing it off as a joke, but they treat it as a ritual every time they pass. They continually untuck my shirt, and if that’s not enough they trip me. I try to look out for their feet when I walk by, but then they slap my papers out of my hand. When I bend down to pick them up they push me over.

I know I’m grown. I’ve asked them to stop, but then they turn to making fun of me. I’ve already had two fractured wrists this year alone. I don’t know which wounds are worse. Should I choose a book on how to stand up for yourself or how to deal with the emotional pain, maybe a book on self-defense? 

Maybe a book isn’t what I need; maybe I should join a gym and get into better shape. If I bulked up maybe they would just stop bothering me and let me work. Or maybe a martial arts class, then next time they reached towards me I could grab their hand, and put them in one of them submission holds. I could get quick like Bruce Lee.

No I couldn’t do that, I’d lose my job. They all hang out with the boss on the weekends, that’s why I never report anything. No matter what I do I’m the bad guy. I really do like my job I just hate who I have to work around.

I guess that eliminates some of the books. One of the books stood out, ‘How to pick an emotional support animal.’ That’s what I needed; I could get a big scary dog. All I would need is a doctor to sign off that I needed him for emotional stability, and they’d have to let me keep him at the desk. Being my luck I’m probably allergic to dogs. I don’t think my apartment allows animals either.

Well square one again, seems to be my comfort zone. I needed a book on how to deal with work bullies. Is that right, am I being bullied at work? That’s what it feels like or is that only for kids in school. Now I was confused, can grown men be bullied? I know society says anyone can be, but men are supposed to be able to stand up for themselves right?

I’ve never been quick with words.  That makes it hard to stand up to bullies. Maybe there’s a book on how to be more verbal. ‘How to stand up to your bully’ was sticking out so I grabbed it. The cover let me know it wouldn’t fill my needs. The theory may have been solid, but it was written for elementary school children. The illustrated pictures were a turn off for me. I sighed as I put it back. Maybe I should just pick a new job.

I hadn’t noticed the self-help section was right beside the religion section. Maybe that was a sign I should just get a new bible instead. I’m not sure I have it in me to read that many pages. Or I could get one of the bigger ones to beat those guys in the head on Monday. 

I couldn’t even go out and meet a woman. Not because I was scared to talk to them. I couldn’t go home to a girlfriend or wife, and explain to her how I was being bullied at work. How could she ever respect a man like me?

I got down on my knees, and closed my eyes. I was in front of the bibles; maybe prayer was what I needed. I prayed for guidance. I prayed for a stronger backbone. I prayed for the strength to make a change in my life.

I opened my eyes still looking down at the carpet. I felt better, not cured, but better. Like there was light at the end of the tunnel. I was about to get up when I noticed a book wedged between the tops of the bibles and the shelf. I never would’ve seen it had I not been kneeled down. I pulled it out and looked at the cover, and instantly knew this was the book I was going to be leaving with. 

It had to be a sign. The location and series of events it took to get to it. I got to my feet smiling and nodding, I didn’t even care how much it cost. I made my way to cashier and handed her my new book, ‘How to bury the bodies and let God decide.’